Intrinsic Frailties
by AJarOfDirt
Summary: The Malfoys appear to be the perfect wizarding family, with the riches many dream of. But is all this a facade? When Draco is entrusted with a task that requires the exchange of his life, will the Malfoys finally say no?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** Characters © J. K. Rowling except for the names of the house-elves.

This entire fanfiction was based mainly off of songs by indie band Meg & Dia, on their record 'Something Real', particularly _Roses_, _Setting Up Sunday_ and _Nineteen Stars_; as well as certain songs by Lifehouse. Also, elements such as Elves and the Elvish language from Tolkien are incorporated in this story, but in later chapters.

xxx

The sky was painted black with lightning streaking its abysmal impression. Well-cut hedges fenced the handsome manor that stood still in the darkness, with only flashes of lightning illuminating them. The proud peacock that usually waltzed across them was nowhere to be seen as dollops of rain fell rapidly and wind sought to uproot the neat trees lining the courtyard.

Inside the large house was no different from its outdoor counterpart; everything was in place. The walls, covered with hangings and paintings of ancestors, were spotless, the parquet glistening with purity. The tables and chairs of the kitchens, sitting rooms and studies were of shiny mahogany; the bedrooms held the finest linens and the living area was filled with the best of armchairs and sofas made with the softest velvets and suede, the grand piano sitting dominantly by a stagnant fireplace.

That piano, although pristine, was never once touched by its owners. It was meticulously cleaned by maids and tuned to perfection, but nobody would sit at it. Nobody would play it – no one would exercise its keys. Right then, it stood gleaming, but painfully silent – longing to be played.

A house-elf carrying a tray with a teapot and matching china set on it walked through the purposely dim hallway to one of the many studies in the home. Only candles hung on the walls lit her way to her destination as the hefty, heavy drapes were drawn shut over large windows. Her footsteps were quick across the floor and the tray rattled in her hands. From her straight face, nobody would be able to tell if the shivering was from anxiousness or from the mere friction originating from her feet.

Her hand limply rapped on the pair of white double doors barring her entrance into the study and a brisk, "Come in," was soon heard from within the room.

She turned the handle and pushed one weighty door open, careful not to spill a drop of tea. The little elf then scurried over to her master, who was seated in a high-backed, leather armchair facing a roaring hearth. A woman with flowing blonde hair stood against one corner of the mantelpiece, however, her stance was stilted, as though she did not feel she deserved to lean on the red brick of the mantel.

The woman's eyes were puffy and red. Her cheeks were tear-stained while more dripped down the plains of her face. She held a frilly kerchief in her hand, sniffling. The man before her faced away from her, not bearing to look. Not at his wife, not when she was crying her eyes out.

"Master, Lobelia brings you your tea, sir," the little elf spoke in a barely audible tone.

"Thank you, Lobelia. Just leave it there on the end table," came her master's words. They were emotionless, without feeling. He did not face the elf as he spoke. The woman across him sniffed again.

The house-elf placed the tray on the end table and left hurriedly, still shaking. Once the door closed, the woman walked over to the table, lifted the pot and began to pour steaming tea into the china. Her own hands quivered in weakness and she accidentally dropped the teapot.

Immediately, the pot shattered. The shards flew in all directions across the floorboards and they were soon covered in shiny, white pieces. Tea soaked into the bear-skin rug at their feet.

"Lucius..." her voice was cut short by his.

"Don't apologise, Narcissa, I've had enough of that. Make sure you get Lobelia to clean this up before the Dark Lord arrives in an hour. Whether or not he uses this room will be up to him, but nevertheless, it must be immaculate."

The woman called Narcissa stood riveted in her spot, her kerchief already fallen on the floor. Lucius stood from his seat, swivelled around and left the room quickly, his cloak swishing softly as it hit against the objects in the room.

Narcissa sank on the floor, the tea stain from it seeping into her lilac robes, and wept. Her entire body was in quaking fits when Lobelia arrived in the room, shocked to see her mistress in such a bad state.

"Mistress Malfoy! Your robes! Master will not be pleased when he sees them! The Dark Lord should be here any minute, mistress, and master expects cleanness in everything. Come, we have no time to waste, we must get you into new robes!"

Lobelia carefully helped Narcissa up the staircase to her quarters in the east wing of the manor. Lucius himself occupied the west wing while their only son, Draco, took to the central quarters.

Narcissa, exhausted from crying, trembled as Lobelia helped her into a new set of ruby-hued robes and they did up her face and hair. She would not normally make the house-elves suffer on her behalf, but at that point, she was just too distraught to take notice of anything but the visit at hand.

The Dark Lord was visiting once again, no doubt to give them a new mission. Draco was in his room, awaiting this event as well. Lucius was expecting them both to be present and to dissatisfy him would be a costly price. Narcissa had tried to persuade Lucius earlier that night not to let Draco attend – after his experience with the Headmaster of Hogwarts – but Lucius would hear nothing of it. He would rather have his son put forth as bait than anything else.

That was the reason for Narcissa's breakdown. She was so worried for her son – her only son. She could not bear to have him go through something he did not want.

"Mistress Malfoy, you look so beautiful!" Lobelia's shrill words interrupted her thoughts. Gone were the tear stains and the swollen eyes; Narcissa's Black heritage shone through as her natural glow was more prominent than it had been in ages. Her eyes sparkled somewhat and her pale cheeks were dotted with a healthy tone.

A knock then came at her bedroom door. "Mother? It's me, Draco."

"Come in, love," Narcissa was anxious to see her son. She had not had a lot of chance to talk to him since his return from Hogwarts as he had kept to his room a lot. When her door opened, a rather sunken-looking Draco walked in. His features were more protuberant than ever and his grey eyes held an air of sadness in them.

"He's here."


	2. Chapter 2

The drawing room was so hushed that anybody would have noticed a pin fall. The hangings on the windows were drawn tightly shut and the great double doors, locked. The scope was only elucidated by candelabras on the ground as well as hanging from the partitions. The fireplace in the room sat darkly in the middle of one of the four walls, its ashes not even smoking. The large table that divided the room in half was headed by a cloaked man.

But, he was not a man; rather, a snake – a vile, cruel snake. His eyes were the slits of the reptile, his nose no different. His pale skin was almost white and glowing, and his fingers, brittle at first glance, were wrapped tightly around the arms of his seat, as though in a bishop's cathedra. The red orbs that were his optics gazed at the three people before him, his mouth curved in a vindictive, yet somehow sarcastic, smirk.

His name was Lord Voldemort. Many years ago, when he formed that name, he had hoped that it would be the source of all fear – that whenever somebody even spoke his name, a crowd would frisson with utter trepidation. The Malfoys proved him correct and as he looked at each of their forcefully straight faces, his smirk deepened.

"You seem as though you do not want me in your home, my dear Malfoys," his voice slimy as his features as his fingers move to the table gracefully. "By the looks on your faces, it's as though you find me disruptive and a horrid presence in it. Am I right, Lucius?"

"Of course not, my Lord. We are more than happy to have you in our home," Lucius' voice quivered very slightly, but his face showed no emotion. He tried to look Voldemort straight in the eye, but failed and instead stared at his hands.

"But you still seem reluctant. Why is that, hmm? Draco, how about you? You don't seem as eager as you were when you accepted my first task for you. You, in fact, seem scared. Are you scared, Draco?" Voldemort cooed, his voice dripping with mockery and relish as he noticed Draco flinch and look away, practically palpitating in his seat. He then laughed a hollow chortle, his right index finger moving in and out of the flames present before him on a candelabra.

"But you should know my reasons for appearing at such a late hour in the game, my friends. I need you complete a task for me. Consider this a chance to regain what little dignity you have left, after all your failures in the past. I could go on and on listing them, but then I'd have no time. This next task also involves you, Draco. Aren't you feeling rather excited about it?"

Voldemort was taunting him and he knew it. _Don't show weakness, Draco!_ he told himself. _Don't give him that satisfaction._ Nevertheless, Draco's nod was stiff with fear and Voldemort cackled.

"Yes, I believe we will be in a good partnership once again. Now tell me, Draco, do you enjoy treasure hunts and adventures? I'm sure your parents have made sure you've had your fair share as with everybody else, given that they provide just about everything for you, no?" he fussed. "Well then, I've got something very special for you. But now is not the time to reveal what the task exactly is. All you need to know now is that it is a hunt. A hunt to find something that belongs in our circle – that will help us to win this battle. It will help me defeat Harry Potter."

The room held the sound the dead made – none. Even Nagini, who was perched at the top of Voldemort's armchair, rested quietly. Narcissa wore a look of unadulterated shock and protest, but dared not open her mouth in front of the Dark Lord, who was already looking at her with sheer scorn. She knew the consequences would be greatly undesirable if she were to disapprove of her son going on such a mission.

"Whatever it is you'd like us do, my lord, it shall be done," Lucius stood and bowed to Voldemort, who smiled a sickly beam before turning to Draco.

"You should really learn from your father, Draco. He knows his place."

xxx

After Voldemort had left, Lucius settled himself into his library, a cup of tea in hand and his feet up on a pouffe as he reclined in his chair. Dressed in his comfortable deer-skin robes, he was thoughtful. What could the Dark Lord possibly want with his family? What was the task at hand? A hunt? Would it require heavy travel?

Many questions were present in his currently muddled mind. Lucius felt restless. He needed to know – he hungered to know. Lucius was not the kind of person that enjoyed being kept in the dark.

Getting up from his position, he strolled towards the shelves of books that lined the walls, skimming through the sections, but not quite knowing what he was looking for. He remembered that he owned a book filled with information on different legendary objects that could help command and conquer, but he had forgotten the name of it and where it was placed. It was, after all, a very old and worn book.

The tomes that covered his shelves did not do much for his rising temper and he gave up almost immediately. He was far too apprehensive and tired to look for the book then.

Lucius strolled towards the windows and pulled the drapes back. He gazed out onto the courtyard, noticing that the rain had not yet subsided. The trees that usually bore fruit looked unusually down that night. It was in all probability due to the wind and rain, but they still looked depressed.

He dropped the velvet pieces again and left the library, blowing out the candles that lit its scene on the way. As he headed for his bedroom, he passed a long hallway covered in family portraits. Lucius stopped. He had not noticed these photographs on the walls before. He slowed down to take a closer look at them.

The first one depicted Draco as a toddler learning to walk. Lucius could very well see his own hands cutting into the frame as he urged a stumbling Draco into his arms. The one right next to it proved that time had passed for Draco was seven there, on his toy broomstick and chasing his mother around. Lucius went through the rest of the photographs and realised that the latest one on the wall had been taken years before, when Draco had turned eleven. That final photograph was taken at his birthday party. They were all smiling broadly, stances comfortable and loving.

Lucius shook his head and continued on his way, not wanting to be hindered by these 'unimportant' things. Once he gave into something known as compassion and love, he would lose himself and his status forever. He had worked very hard to get into the Dark Lord's inner circle and he would not lose it in a night.

As he climbed into his large, silk-clad four-poster bed, Lucius closed his eyes, very lethargic and in need of rest. However, whatever he sought that night evaded him well and he did not get any until hours later.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mother, are you all right?" Draco's tone was soft as he unhurriedly entered his mother's sitting room, where Narcissa was staring out of the pane. The clouds that had previously enveloped the night sky had finally cleared the next morning. Her mood seemed tranquil, but nobody could tell for lately, the mistress of the manor had not been herself. Narcissa would hardly smile. She would feel faint at different points of the day and would not be able to concentrate on the work she was doing.

It was just then did she snap out of the reverie she was having to look at her son. Draco had matured so much since she had last properly glanced at him – both physically and emotionally. He was now taller than she and his eyes seemed to have aged and they looked tired, distraught and hurt. Those eyes made Narcissa ache with the knowledge that some of that hurt was caused by her and Lucius' torpid and moribund relationship.

"It's nothing, darling. I'm just feeling a bit under the weather," Narcissa tried, but she knew that Draco could see right through her façade. Her bulbous eyes and slight sniffling were a big giveaway.

Draco sighed and led her towards the sofa, in which he made her sit. He wrapped his cold hands around her quivering ones, trying to give her some form of reassurance. He knew of her pain, he saw it every day during every moment he spent with her. She was lonely, in desperate need of her family. The tempestuous relationship she had with his father had resulted in much loss on her part, with Lucius' turning as cold as ice towards everything else.

"No, Mother, it's not nothing. You can't give out on us, Mum, not now. It's far too late," Draco said, his voice filled with anguish as his mother's oculi satiated with tears once more and she hugged her son tightly. Draco felt a tear slip from his own eye and hastily brushed it away.

"I'm just worried about you, Draco," Narcissa whispered. "What the Dark Lord can do, what he would make you do. You could be killed on this mission, Draco, don't you understand why I'm fretting so? You are my only child, I cannot lose you."

"You won't. Whatever it is the Dark Lord makes me do, I'll do it and come straight home, Mother. I'm not a daft child, I can handle it," Draco attempted, although his own intonation had thickened with damp melancholy.

"Draco Malfoy, what you just made was a vacant pledge, silly boy," Narcissa laughed, although it was quickly ridden with lament. She sobbed, "You're the only thing I have left. Your father is less-than sought-after company, I'm sure you are aware. You're my only hope now."

The boy nodded as he began to whimper, his own presentiment and depression overrunning his fight to be strong for his mother. Soon, both mother and son were crying softly, supporting each other, as they had for so many years since Lucius Malfoy turned away from them.

xxx

"Where is that damned thing?"

Lucius' frustration was evident in the way he scanned through the titles in his records for his library. It had to be there, it just had to be. He had finally remembered what the title of the book was, after a whole night of fretful sleep and intense recollecting, and he could not even find it in his records.

"Could the house-elves have rearranged them to Narcissa's library?" he muttered to himself, aggravated by the thought. "LOBELIA! Come here immediately!" Lucius yelled at empty space.

With a pop, the little house-elf appeared before her master, visibly shrunken at the piercing stare he was giving her. "Master rang for Lobelia?"

"Did you or did you not move my books, Lobelia?"

"No, sir. They are all here."

"Then why is it that I cannot find something I particularly necessitate? If it is 'all here' as you say, then I should be able to find it in my records, no?"

Lobelia immediately looked panicked. "Y-your records, master? Didn't mistress tell you, sir?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed, trying to decide if the elf was just being bold enough to infuriate him further or whether she was truly as perplexed as her face looked. Deciding on picking the latter out of humouring her, he replied, "Yes, Lobelia, my library records. If I am not wrong, it is you who are in charge of keeping them updated and making sure everything is present. And what does the mistress have to do with this matter?"

"Yes, Lobelia is in charge, sir. But Mistress Malfoy wanted to borrow a book not found in her own library, Master, and came here to borrow it. Mistress told Lobelia not to worry about the records that day and that Mistress would take care of them, sir. So Lobelia just left. Lobelia is terribly sorry, master! Truly! She..."

"Enough, Lobelia! Tell Mistress Malfoy to meet me in my study in twenty minutes. I shall settle this with her myself."

"Yes, sir!" the little elf clicked her fingers and was off.

x

Lucius was fuming as he walked briskly into his study. What could Narcissa possibly covet so badly that she had to rifle through his personal book collection? The volumes he had in his annals were sacred and precious. Did she have any idea of the mistakes she had just committed?

Lobelia popped into the room a few minutes later, assuring Lucius that Narcissa would be with him shortly. _Good, the sooner I resolve this, the better,_ his mind reeled.

A few moments later, Narcissa appeared at the doorway of his study. Her frame immediately decreased in stature with the intense glare that Lucius was giving her.

"Sit." That was all he remarked.

The woman's purple robes swished across the carpet as she settled herself onto one of Lucius' pouffes. Her shoulders were uneven and her breath, quick with anticipation as to what was to come.

"I will make this extremely clear for you. Did you or did you not touch any of my books in my library, Narcissa? Please do not lie, I am very tired and don't wish to deal with that," his voice was strained and it really sounded as though he meant what he said – that he was simply tired and not wanting to break his back for a book while he was in this state was perfectly understandable.

"I did not," Narcissa replied, her face a usual expression. "I admit to looking through some things, but put everything back as they were. If anything, you yourself have misplaced your desired tome, Lucius."

Lucius wanted to argue but knew he should not. Perhaps he had been careless; and what type of husband would disbelieve their own wife? Also, since he had made his excuse to be tiredness, a sudden outburst would have been most unwelcome.

"Very well, you may leave, Narcissa."

She stood up and walked towards the door, the object ricocheting away from her as she neared it. It closed silently.

xxx

Narcissa's hands were perspiring uncontrollably as she left Lucius' study. She knew if he ever found out about her little white lie, she would be punished most severely.

Her hands wrapped around her own doorknob as she made clear the entrance to her own sitting room and she immediately locked herself in. She had to make sure she was alone – at all costs – for this task was not for open eyes and ears. Sitting on her mahogany desk was an old, tattered book. The tome had been passed through the hands of many and had finally landed as a collector's piece in Lucius' gallery of literary annals. The ragged leather that sandwiched the book from front to back had brown string as its binds and read 'The Secrets the Elves Bore'.

With her fingers trembling, Narcissa opened the book to its contents, a churning feeling arising in her stomach as she read through to find what she needed.


	4. Chapter 4

The book's pages were blotted and its deterioration much worse than anything Narcissa had expected. It was so worn out that it made it tiresome to decipher the inscription on the pages. She had not perceived Lucius to own such a ragged book. He was always a man of spotlessness and freshness.

Turning over page after page as carefully as she could, Narcissa noticed that no matter how shabby the volume was, Lucius had managed to meticulously keep it intact. The pages were not crooked and the blemishes had been removed as best as he could. The book had its mould eradicated as much as possible as well so it was not entirely a chore trying to decode its text.

Her right index finger smoothly ran over the brown document, desperately searching for it. It had to be in this book. There were not many printed work that displayed the craftsmanship of the Elves of the north. This was the only one she had seen that even bore the word 'Elf'.

Not many saw the Elves of magical folklore more than just a glance anymore. In fact, most of the recent generations were unaware of their existence. Not only were they increasingly very private beings, they lived in the valleys of Snaefell in the Isle of Man, away from Muggle and the regular witch's and wizard's clutches. Preferring trees to proper terrain, the Elves were very powerful beings in the fields of combat, craft and magic. Their pure prowess in the knowledge of these things made their items very sought after. There came a time when they created legendary, seemingly unstoppable weapons that could save you even when you were on the brink of death.

These warheads were the root of much damage in the neighbouring villages of the Elves' previous home nearer Scotland as many wizards – Dark or not – hunted them. The battles caused the Elves to live in recluse, to avoid anymore deaths on both sides. Still, there were records – records of the weaponry they made and possessed, as well as exquisite items. One of those items, Narcissa suspected, would play a big part in Draco's task. The Dark Lord was always speaking of wanting great power and there really was no others superior than that of Elven dexterity.

"Oh dear Merlin," she whispered, her hand lingering on a page. She had found it. Of course, until the Dark Lord himself confirmed her suspicions, that was all they were – suspicions. But Narcissa was quite sure, principally owing to what was written on the page.

On the left leaf was a detailed drawing of a sceptre encrusted with jewels – garnets, emeralds and topazes were just a few of them – and at the top, a humongous stone was dissected in half; on one side, a blood-red ruby was parked between secateur-shaped supports and on the other, a deep-blue sapphire. Its handle was shown with Elvish inscription, which would translate to:

_Sturdier than the miner's mithril, fiercer than the forger's flame_  
_From all the heavens and all the earth whence it came_  
_Serving the diligent, aiding the assiduous_  
_Aegnor úr nenyë – fire and water_  
_Forever ferocious as the rippling comber_

So this was what it was. There had been many tales of _Aegnor_ – interpreted as 'fell fire' – the staff of fire and water, for many generations, whether it was written in a child's fairytale or in an adult's textbook. It was said to be nothing more than legend, but Narcissa thought the Dark Lord almost certainly contemplated otherwise. The way his mind worked was far more twisted than others.

_Merlin be damned if I'm letting Draco take this task!_ she thought frantically as she read through the pages, realising what was at stake.

The Elves were not a vengeful sort, but to touch what was theirs without explicit permission would be most unwise, for they were valiant in protecting their territory. If the sceptre truly existed, it would take much more than a seventeen-year-old boy to retrieve it from its maker's clutches.

_They probably have it in high security, with enchantments. Having Draco do this is like feeding him off as a piece of meat,_ Narcissa worried, the colour draining from her face even more as she read on in the book.

It became clearer that it was not just _like_ serving the boy as bait anymore, it truly _was_ that way, for if Draco were to do this assignment, he would certainly fail. The sceptre, if ever retrieved would not always heed its holder's commands. Similar to wands, it chooses its master. A huge sacrifice would have to be made on their behalf should Draco go on this trip to repossess the staff. If it does not recognise its wielder as its true master, unthinkable things could happen.

xxx

"Draco?" Narcissa quietly thumped on her son's room later that night. As the foyer windows were open, the breeze was coming in and it filled the hall of the central wing with a sweet scent of flowers and fruit trees. However, it also made the antechamber uncomfortably cold.

Draco opened the door to find his mother wrapped in her silk sleeping gown and quickly invited her into his room before she froze at his doorstep. "What is wrong, Mother? It's getting very late. Why are you still awake?"

"I just wanted to see you," she whispered, afraid that her voice might crack if she spoke any louder; she placed her hand on her son's cold cheek. She tried to crack a smile, but found it exceedingly excruciating to do so.

"Mother..." his voice trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Both of them planted themselves on Draco's bed. Nothing was said, but the silence was comfortable. It made them feel at ease, as though there was absolutely nothing to worry about. A lone night bird was perched in a nearby tree and it was singing a tune. That tune was neither sad nor happy, but it was intoxicating. The soothing chirps put the pair in a shared, distant, reverie...

x

"_Come back here, you little imp!" Lucius playfully yelled after his five-year-old son as the boy ran around the manor, laughing shrilly at his father's vain attempts to catch him. Narcissa emerged from her sitting room, laughing at the scene before her._

_It was when Draco finally tottered did Lucius manage to seize hold of him. "I've got you now!"_

_The little boy was in fits of laughter as Lucius picked him up and toted him back to the sitting room. They were in the middle of another family game when young Draco decided to escape the room to give his parents a good run. He loved it when his father chased after him. It was then that he knew his family was contiguous. His mother was always the one riveted to her spot, preferring her husband to do all the hard work in catching their son._

_Narcissa beamed even further when she saw the two of them returning and walked over to her husband and child, the former laughing heartily at his son's vain attempts to touch the tip of his head. She gathered Draco in her arms and kissed Lucius on the cheek, feeling as though her family was complete..._

xxx xxx xxx

**Author's Notes: **I am terribly, terribly sorry for not updating, but I was away on holiday for two weeks and simply could not. I hope this chapter makes it up to you :)

The inscription/poem was written by me, with Elvish courtesy of J. R. R. Tolkien.


	5. Chapter 5

Lucius awoke from slumber late the next morning, his back not at all well. _Why on earth did I fall asleep at my desk last night?_ he wondered, rubbing his aching back. Despite having a fretless dream, reality was poking him in the spine that morning as he got up and stretched as best he could without hurting his back further. _Damn, Merlin, I need a massage._

But he knew that he could not afford to have one. The day was short seeing as he arose so late in the day and he was looking forward to another visit from the Dark Lord that night to explain the task. Lucius had to make sure everything was in order and those miserable, decrepit things known as house-elves were simply far too slow if not rushed.

Still, as he turned on the water in the bathroom with his unicorn-horned tap handle, he could not help but reflect about the dream he had had the night before. What could it have meant? He could recall no possible memory of him having a similar one. In fact, the dream itself became vaguer and vaguer each passing second he dwelled on it.

It was up until the point when he stepped out of his bathtub and begun drying himself where he could only remember a lot of laughter – blissful, undisruptive, genuine laughter. Also, it was not just ordinary mirth, it had been _his_. It had been so..._long_ since he had heard himself even utter a sound remotely similar to an undemanding, contented chuckle. It was always a petulant sigh or a mean chortle, but nothing as good-natured as what he had heard in the dream.

_Don't think about this now, Lucius,_ he told himself as he pulled black, velvet robes over his shoulders and fastened his belt. _You have other things to worry about at the present time._

Very quickly – Lucius was always a man for speed and accuracy – he walked down the large central staircase towards the kitchens, where the house-elves were cleaning out ovens, cooking lunch as well as mopping the floors.

"Olo!" Lucius barked at a particularly small, male elf. "I'm putting you in charge of arrangements for tonight. Make sure everything is perfect for the Dark Lord's arrival, is that clear? Serve only the finest foods. If we don't have what is essential for preparation, I command you to go purchase whatever obligatory by five o'clock this afternoon. Is that understood?"

"Yes, master!" the little elf named Olo squeaked and got to work immediately. If there ever was a house-elf Lucius favoured the most, it would be Olo, for he was quick in his actions and would do them most precisely. Lobelia could be such a pain to work with in his library. She had not even found his missing tome yet, which was strange.

Still, he decided that searching for the book was not very important at the moment as his tasks were imperative. Although his conscience continued to irritate him throughout the day, he pushed it away as he ran errands around the house. He rarely stepped out of the domicile these days. Being in the Dark Lord's inner circle was not the best quality for a job application or a casual stroll in the park, so he just kept to his home. He had enough money for their family to survive until the Dark Lord rose for the second time.

But when he had done what he needed to do, he suddenly felt very empty. It was four hours until the Dark Lord's due arrival at their home and everything was prepared. The chandeliers were polished, the floors swabbed clean, the paintings were freshly '_scourgified'_. The sudden occurrence of having unused time was so rare for him. He usually did not even have enough time to have a good respite, let alone have so many hours to spare – for himself.

Peripatetic about the large corridor outside the main sitting room, Lucius' thoughts wandered with him. He was bored, and he could not deny that. Having nothing to do just made him feel more exhausted than he originally thought he was.

For some reason, being without work made him feel jaded in his life. Everything for the past few years had been encircled around jobs, tasks, errands. There was nothing about having time to yourself to read a good book or to clean out your desk or to finally learn how to play that dratted piano in the sitting room...

In fact, why not try playing that instrument now? It was not as if he had a lot to worry about now that everything was in place for the Dark Lord's arrival. He after all had four hours.

Lucius entered his living room and sat at the mechanism before him, placing his fingers over the hard, polished keys. "_Muffliato_," he whispered, enclosing the sound to just the living room alone.

The keys were stiff from little play, but the sound was perfect. However, as Lucius had no idea what he was playing, he simply went with the flow of notes; whatever he felt sounded melodious, he would play it.

Soon, the room was filled with a relatively blissful, albeit disjointed, melody. The peaceful sounds did not leave the chamber and Lucius was left to enjoy it on his own. His fingers carefully ran over the whites and blacks of the keyboard, his thoughts flowing away from him as he lost himself in the music...

x

_The music was soft as it steadily lilted throughout the room. The piano played itself as a much younger Lucius and Narcissa sat in a plush sofa by a fireplace, with young Draco dozing against his mother's shoulder. It was night time and after a particularly long day by the large lake their house overlooked; they were tired, especially their son._

_Lucius gently stroked Narcissa's hair away from her face as he watched her waft into undisturbed snooze. Her head rested on his broad shoulder, her lips slightly curled in a satisfied, trouble-free smile as she cradled her five-year-old son, a blanket wrapped around them both as the air was chillier than normal that night._

_Easing himself up warily so as to avoid alarming his wife and child, Lucius walked over to the piano, which he tapped with his wand to slowly stop the music. The song it was playing gradually diminished into nothing and Lucius laid the piano cover over the keyboard._

_The air outside was fresh with the aroma of flowers and the fruit trees bore the best crop. _It had to still be spring,_ he considered, having not paid much attention to the weather and season as of late. He had been too lost in spending time with his family to heed it much._

_The fire flickered weakly and Lucius moved swiftly to turn over the log. He knew not to close the windows either, as the room would feel suffocated if he did so._

_As the flames crackled back into life, Narcissa stirred, "Lucius? What's going on?"_

"_Nothing, Cissa, darling. I was just changing the log," he replied softly, going towards her once more, but not sitting in his former position. Instead, he knelt down before the sofa, watching his wife shift into a comfortable position before closing her eyes again. "Go back to sleep."_


	6. Chapter 6

Narcissa sat still in one of the many downstairs sitting rooms, contemplating. She knew perfectly well that Lucius was unstable, that he had to be allowing the atrocity that was Lord Voldemort to penetrate their home for a reason. They were now at odds with each other because she felt that Lucius rarely undertook responsibility if he did not know what he was doing. He was smart that way. But his actions were telling her otherwise.

For the longest duration, Narcissa had been dreaming of soaring back in time. Her reminiscence of past days in a pasture, of picnics in the Malfoy garden, of resting by her husband's side rather than across the mansion...all those reveries were just as they were; purely memories of the life she had once led. But it was not to say that she did not enjoy the simple life, before Lucius became too pompous for anything around him.

She had had no prior preparation for the sudden change in Lucius. It seemed contradictory to say that it was a seamless transformation, yet Lucius had voluntarily refused to inform her about anything – making it obvious, in a way – and thus, destroying their relationship – after all, communication is the best way for a rapport to contour; but that was exactly how she felt. Narcissa was confused and distressed because of these beliefs that had dwelt in her psyche for so long.

But in spite of all the appalling things that had come to pass in their family during the past years, despite Lucius' abrupt and unwanted alteration, Narcissa still loved her husband. Something unfathomable inside her kept her from murdering her husband right there and then, because she could effortlessly do that without mercy for all the burden he had put on her shoulders. It was such blind love that kept the family together – blind love as well as blind faith, the latter being felt by Draco more than anybody else.

Narcissa gaped at the room before her, not really seeing it. Her consciousness was then muffled with picture clips of past events. She happened to be in the exact chamber that Lucius had proposed to her, a long time ago when his parents still lived in the manor. It was also this parlour's parquet that young Draco took his first steps across. She remembered telling Draco bedtime stories by this particular inglenook as his own bedroom had no hearth and how she would get Lucius to carry their sleeping child up the staircase to the bed when Draco had finally gotten too weighty for her to lift on her own.

Soft tears rolled over pale plains as she sat on the antique rug on the floor by the fireside and curled herself up. She wanted no intrusions to her reveries.

xxx

"_Delayed_?!" Lucius bellowed as his hand clutching the rain-worn parchment shook with annoyance. The house-elf before him jumped at his sudden reaction and he angrily dismissed her. All the measures around the house was done for nothing. The Dark Lord was only arriving in four days. According to the letter, he needed more time and more manpower, thus his lateness.

Lucius could not stop the flow of obscenities spewing from his orifice at that point. He was angry, there was no doubt about it, but he knew no particular reason for the antagonism either. Deciding he needed to unwind, he ordered Olo to bring a bottle of Firewhiskey and a glass to his library, where he would be; a chamber he knew he would not be disturbed in.

Pouring himself a glass, he took a very long and very tired sip from it, the drink not at all cleansing his frustrated mind. The burning sensation took hold of his throat; he was not a heavy drinker and to suddenly have something so powerful in his system was painful, but he was not thinking of the physical pain the whiskey was providing, but what he was experiencing emotionally.

He knew the genuine reason the Dark Lord had refused to appear on time as he had earlier prophesised – he had had all the time in the world given to him and he definitely had enough Death Eaters – the reason was that Voldemort wanted them to wait. He wanted them to be on the very edge of pure inquisitiveness and hunger before he disclosed any information to them. It was his way of making sure that he could see the unadulterated satisfaction on his audiences' faces once the aforementioned information was revealed – another method for the Dark Lord to feel power.

But Lucius did not desire to know what was to come of the meeting – he, in fact, dreaded it. But knowing the Dark Lord's plans was always better than to be kept in the dark. There was somehow an easing sensation to it.

As he tipped the Firewhiskey bottle towards his empty chalice once more, Lucius' arm accidentally thrust a photograph in its casing over the edge of his desk. The entire frame was constructed out of intricate glass and it shattered as it impacted the wooden floor. Sighing in frustration, he moved from his seat to the other side of the desk, where he stood riveted for a period of time, not daring to move as he stared at the image before him.

The frame had landed face-up, showing a family portrait from a very long time ago. The glass pieces that littered the floor were on top, and the refracted light that passed through them hinted at a torn photograph. One of the shadows had severed the photograph where Draco was, cutting the young boy out of it. Others served as cracks in the parents' faces.

Gently picking the photograph up, Lucius heaved a thick sigh as he pointed his wand, indistinctly muttered the word, "_Reparo_." at the broken glass and they instantly flew back into place, the casing once again visible. He fitted the picture back into place and went for a drawer, opening it and placing the photograph from the world's reaches.

xxx xxx xxx

**Author's Notes:** It is not a very long chapter and not as descriptive in terms of location, but I tried to do so with their feelings and hopefully that came out well. As of now, I am restructuring some bits in the story. It was supposed to end here with maybe only an epilogue left, but I decided to stretch the story out more and to investigate the characters' emotional growth throughout the story.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Lucius' POV (Journal Entry)**_

January 1, 1998

No matter how hard I try, I cannot forget that photograph – that family photograph. Putting it away from the world might have solved their problems, but not mine. Long-gone are the happy days and I should forget about them. Long-gone are the times the picture depicted: soft grass, a sparkling lake, three happy family members doing nothing but enjoying each others' company. The rest of the manor is plastered with more of those frames of film. They were the reason for my personal walls to come crashing down. But I am welcoming a killing psychopath into our home and agreeing with his blood-thirsty diplomacy. It shows that nothing has changed. Has it?

That photograph should not mean anything more to me than what it is physically, but I cannot help but feel the pain. What I saw in it was almost something of divine intervention for me to stop and think about what I am doing to myself and my family. But I have stopped and thought for much too long a time. I cannot stray from what I have mapped out for myself.

This past week – was it only a week? – has felt like a lifetime to me. I felt that I grew so much over it and I came to a better understanding. At the same time, however, being hindered by my revelations would mean certain death for me, bodily or otherwise. The Dark Lord will suffer no rival, nor would he pity the innocent and repentant.

The Dark Lord is arriving tomorrow night, and what am I doing? Writing in a worn-out leather-back that should have been thrown away years ago; thinking of plans that I know will never surface because of my mistakes in the past. Sitting around will not solve my problems, but I think right now, the best thing for me to do is to try to understand what is to come.

The Dark Lord wants something from us, and he thinks he is going to get it, by doing something dreadful no less. I can feel it intuitively that he is just grinning with mockery, thinking about how he can torture us until we break, until we bow to the glory that is Lord Voldemort. I have never once written his name in disdain before, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. He has threatened my family one too many times in the past and if he does it again – in a crueller, more vicious fashion, I believe – I do not know if I could stand it. I would be forced to, in his presence, but Merlin knows what would come out of my mouth after he leaves, it be good or bad.

I only desire that he leaves us alone, but who am I to ask? We were all part of this. It was always about power before. But that power became our undoing. It would take all of us to finally replace the pieces.

xxx

_**Regular POV **_

Narcissa had had enough. She had to speak to Lucius about his decisions that were to mean either the Malfoys' victories or defeats. It could mean suffering her husband's erratic temper, yet it could mean a certain cooperativeness that she had hoped for. As she slowly made her way to Lucius' quarters, she carefully pondered over what she should utter once inside. Nothing could shield her should something go wrong and she did not want her son to be put into a situation of having to choose a parent to support. No child, in her opinion, should have to. She had always despised the thought of divorce and separation, but that conversation that followed might very well lead to one if not done properly.

"Lucius," she said in an indistinct tone, "I need to speak with you about something. No, it cannot wait." She could almost anticipate her husband's following remarks by counteracting before he could think of an appropriate excuse.

"What is it then?" his voice showed no signs of having been thinking about the important event that would take place the next day. He had been writing in his journal – something, she had observed, he had been doing a lot lately – when she had intruded and he had quickly dropped the quill and closed the leather-bound notebook at the resonance of her voice.

"Tomorrow. You know the Dark Lord only has plans that would invade our safety and...and I just wanted to know your stand. He'll send Draco, I just know it. You know our son is not capable of what he could offer, judging by what has already been done..."

"Narcissa, I assure you that I know what I am doing," Lucius' trademark drawl interrupted her incessant ramblings. "I...I know that I sometimes make the wrong choices, but believe me that tomorrow's is already decided upon. I know what I must do."

"Exactly what is it, then? How can we be a pair when you always keep things to yourself?" Narcissa realised what she had said too late; this discussion was not supposed to take a personal turn, it should not be a heart-to-heart at all. She mentally hollered at herself as Lucius slowly swivelled his chair around to face her for the first time since she had stepped into the room.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Narcissa. We communicate all the time," was his simple reply.

Narcissa could only stare at him in utter surprise. If they had been talking as much as he had just insinuated, she doubted that any of this madness would have befallen the family. But she decided that in order not to turn this into a very personal, therapeutic tête-à-tête and possibly eventually, shameful brawl, she should not say any further. The last thing she needed right then was for Lucius and herself to argue.

"Leave everything to me, Narcissa. I have not yet made up my mind, but I assure you, it will be for the best and that I know what I am doing," Lucius repeated himself.

"Can you not at least inform me of the bulk of your plans? So I can be even a little prepared..." Narcissa tried again, but the look on Lucius' face showed that she should not press the subject any further. She then nodded and replied, "I shall respect your decisions then, my husband." She then turned and left the room.

xxx

_My husband._ That was what she had called him. Lucius suddenly felt a warm rush flood his being. It had been so long since he had heard her speaking to him in such an affectionate tone. Granted, the actual tone in which she spoke seemed stiff and unfeeling, it was still the first time in years that she had even acknowledged him as her significant other. It had to be more than five years in duration in which she had simply uttered his name in near-silence – in fear. Never in that timeframe had she ever tried to call him her _husband_.

_But this wasn't the first time,_ his conscience told him in a mocking tone not dissimilar to Lord Voldemort's. _She had called you that and its counterpart many, many times throughout the years. You were just ignorant, weren't you?_

An atypical and quite startling lump started forming in Lucius' throat as he closed the door to his chamber and took a deep, shaky breath. He had thought she did not care, but he was perceptibly erroneous. Had he really just been blind and inattentive to his wife's simplest, most caring words, only taking in the bad things she had perceived him to have become?

She was not wrong. He was becoming something horrible and something evil. Time had worn Lucius down to be purely power-hungry and ruthless and now as he tried to choose the option of repenting and starting anew, he was not given the prospect of even getting close to that. It was a no-win situation as far as he was concerned. But that was simply because too many opportunities had already been given to him in the form of accepting his wife's love for him, and his son's willingness to put him back as a father figure in his life.

Lucius' shoulders shook as he felt his walls fall miserably to the floor. Nothing he had done over the past years had been worth it. He had given up the most important thing in his life in trade for something that did not even last. He was determined to turn the tables, but still, he had no clue of how to do it.

xxx xxx xxx

**Author's Notes**

There is still one more chapter coming up (thank the heavens for it, I was just running out of ideas!) and that one is already written, but I will be touching up on it. It will be the longest chapter of this story, and will most probably be up on Christmas Day. I realise that there is not really any feasible 'plot' (I did think of one at first, but I had way too much trouble trying to work it in), but I was only exploring feelings in this story anyway, as I tend to like to do – explore the feelings that are hardly said in the fandoms rather than just recreating the story to fit myself and changing things too much.

_**However**_, I can say that there most probably will be a continuation to this story in a form of another short story (probably the same length as this one), which simply continues where this story has left of and what the characters continue to face because of the decisions made in the final chapter of Intrinsic Frailties. A sequel, if you want me to keep things short ;)

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing (I don't get lots of reviews so it is especially sweet when people do review) and for sticking with my very sporadic updates until this is finished. I had a great time writing this story. I had to practically kill myself trying to finish this chapter, but it was worth it. I really like this story and I am awfully proud of it. I sound like I'm writing a Grammy speech. But anyway, thank you once again for taking the time to read Intrinsic Frailties :)


	8. Chapter 8

"I see you have been anticipating my arrival, my dear Malfoys," Voldemort silkily taunted as he sat himself at the head of the long table once again. Lobelia tremblingly brought dinner to the table and he coldly chuckled. "A warm dinner? You really _have_ been anxiously waiting. For which, I give you the _utmost_ credit and gratitude."

"We aim to please, my lord," Narcissa's voice articulated as a mumble rather than a confident remark as she had hoped.

Voldemort could not keep the revolting smirk from forming across his pallid, hideous face. "It is nice to see you have not lost your voice, Narcissa. You actually said something tonight. But now is not the time for ineffectual praises such as these. I have the task. I am sure Draco would _love_ to hear it, as it concerns him the most."

Draco's quiver was much more prominent that night as he stared at Voldemort with protruding eyes, dreading what might become of that night. He could practically see the cogs in the Dark Lord's mind whirl with elation at to what his plan would be.

Lucius made no move to correct his son's manners, instead, he said, "What is the task, my lord? We are ready for whatever it is."

"_Are_ you?" Voldemort's chuckle seemed to fissure a chasm in the table, the venom too strong for it. "I was under the impression that you did not wish to carry out the task. I mean, look at your son's face, Lucius. He looks _delighted_ to see me, does he not?"

Lucius shifted in his seat, but did not glance at his son. "Draco is young. He does not know what he wants, nor what he needs. My lord, with all due respect, please continue. We will do whatever it is you wish, for it is the repercussion for our incompetent failures of the past."

The room was suddenly noiseless. Narcissa was gaping at her husband in disbelief at his words. Had he just willingly offered Draco up, not letting him have a say in anything at all? Did he not realise what was the wager should Draco take the commission? What of their conversation earlier that day? Did that not mean anything to him?

Voldemort's knife-sharp features were curled in the most unpleasant facial expression. In it, jubilation was mixed with mock pity and cynicism and in the end, it made him twist his face to quite an unreadable – yet distasteful – appearance.

"Very well then. As the master of the Malfoy Mansion commands it, I shall give out the task," he grinned a ghastly, sardonic smile. "I am after all in his home. Well then, where shall I begin? I am sure all of you know the stories of the Elves from the north. Children's stories must have taught you lot _something_, am I correct?"

There was no answer to his question, but Voldemort did not seem to mind. In fact, he continued as though he never expected a response, "Yes, well, what I am after is a staff, known as the Fell Fire of the Elves, its Elven name _Aegnor_. With this staff, I will have complete control over the powers of fire and water. It will make me unstoppable. Merlin knows Harry Potter only knows so much magic. If that fool Dumbledore was still alive, he would be more of a threat. But now, with the old man gone, retrieving and using the staff against Potter is much easier."

More silence followed his continued statement and as crimson-red pupils bore into the silvery-grey ones, Voldemort could not help but laugh. He was breaking them one by one and he knew it. "Anyway, the task is very simple. I need young Draco here to fetch it for me, if that is all right with his parents, of course."

It was a short, seemingly straightforward – but much more complicated when one delved deeper – request. However, the satire in Voldemort's intonation was not omitted.

Lucius took a deep breath, as though contemplating the weights of his choices, but he eventually stood from his seat and replied, "It would be our honour, my lord," before sitting back down.

xxx

Subsequent to Voldemort's second departure from the Malfoy Mansion, Narcissa coldly stood from her place at the table and left the room, her eyes impassive. She had lost complete faith in Lucius. She could not believe he would risk his only son's life – for his own gain. He had said he had the decision and it was the best one of them, and she believed him. Now, all she felt like was a fool. The more she brooded on that fact, the more her blood began to boil; the more she felt that the walls that blockaded her genuine feelings were coming undone before her.

Spinning around as fast as lightning, Narcissa retreated back into the dining hall, where Lucius and Draco still were, assembling in the sounds of silence. She glared at her husband with paramount fury in her eyes, while Draco promptly jumped up and went to her side, enquiring about her sudden mad rush to murder his father.

"You insolent, vile creature! How dare you accept it?! Do you have any idea what you have just done?!" she screamed at the older blonde male, her words oozed with rancour, weakness and regret – regret that she ever married such a foul and loathsome man. Draco had to hold her back from pouncing. Lucius, however, looked calm and collected, although he refused to meet her eyes.

"I did what I judged to be right, Narcissa," Lucius spoke almost inaudibly. His hands were wrapped around a cane, which he was twirling between his fingers. "Can you not see that this..."

"...is the best thing for yourself, is that it?" the mistress of the manor intercepted angrily. "He's your _son_, Lucius! He's only seventeen years old, barely of age! You cannot let him do this! Everything has always been about you! For the past few years, all you cared about was your status, fame, money. Nothing is ever enough for you."

By this time, Narcissa was perspiring profusely. Her breath was unsteady, her eyes heavily lidded, her hair a mad tangle. The once-put-together woman of the house was in a shredded mess and was falling apart before everybody's once-oblivious eyes. The furiously fanatical glow in her optics reminded Draco of his aunt Bellatrix, who scared him beyond reason. He should not be scared of his mother in that way, but he realised he was when he saw her in the current state.

Lucius' face kept unruffled, although his figure stiffened considerably. He sat up rigidly, dropping his cane to the floor in a semi-refined manner. He straightened his robes as he rose to his full height, turning towards his broken wife.

"I am appalled by your statements, Narcissa. Is this how you truly feel about me? Do you _despise_ me so?" he questioned and for the first time in over six years, there was a hint of genuine strain in his voice – an iota of tiredness, an adumbration of unhappiness. "I will have you know that my efforts have always been towards this family's well-being."

"Then why did you say yes to the Dark Lord? You said you knew what you were doing! That you had the best in mind for our family! Why did you make Draco take a task he is obviously incapable of doing? Why..."

"Wake up, Narcissa! If any one of us dared defy him, unspeakable things could happen!" Lucius voice rose considerably from the tone he had previously used, his countenance wearing thin. "Do you not see? To defy the Dark Lord would mean a fate worse than death!"

"So you would rather have your son go on a slower death trip, then?" Narcissa further challenged, hot tears exuding her cheeks and her breath shallow and uneven. Her words were broken as she stood eye to eye with her husband. "I would have gladly taken to doing this task. Why must Draco do it? That is what I want to know."

"Because of me!" Lucius yelled at her, his anger no longer contained. His own long, flowing locks were beginning to fray around his face and he was looking almost as deranged as Narcissa. Draco stood speechless, still clutching feebly onto his mother's arms.

Narcissa's face paled very slightly, but it did not lose its vitality for long. "There you go again! Always talking about yourself! Why, I..."

"Narcissa, just stop talking and listen to me! You are being hypocritical, when you do not know half of what is going on! The Dark Lord is making Draco do all these things as payment for _me_! For all the times _I_ have failed him! Don't you see that he's purposefully torturing me? Making Draco go on these missions is as good as using the Cruciatus Curse on me forever, but I must do it. I must get the Dark Lord's trust back. Only then he will not seek to harm our family out of pleasure. It is all I can do now to ensure he does not take from me the only thing I hold dear."

With his tirade now over, Lucius collapsed onto one of the dining table chairs, his own tears of misery flowing copiously. He placed his head in his hands, wanting to barricade all intrusions. He had just done something he had promised himself never to do years before, when the Dark Lord first entrusted him with importance; and that was to feel for a person – to empathise, to be compassionate.

He understood the ferocity of the journey, of what he must be putting his wife and son through. But she had to understand as well. He did not mean for it to happen. For the past few years he had been asking himself the unending string of 'what ifs'. What if he had kept Riddle's diary safe like the Dark Lord trusted him to? What if he had not even given it to that dratted Weasley girl? What if he had not sought the Prophecy and eventually lost it to a fifteen-year-old boy in the Department of Mysteries? Would they still have to witness and partake in the madness of Lord Voldemort's mind?

Narcissa's eyes were renewed with tears – but this time, it was tears of realisation. She had wronged her husband and suddenly felt undutiful. She had not been a good wife. She did not try to comprehend her husband's plight. She had been in too deep in the depression that had amounted from years of being left alone, of not having a family to turn to whenever she was in need of one. It, in turn, caused her to be ignorant to her surroundings and twisted her into something that was not too different from what she had perceived Lucius to have had become. She stood still for a few moments, trying to register all that had happened.

Draco, who had remained silent throughout the whole argument, knelt next to his father's chair, taking Lucius' hands into his own, with moisture soaking his own pale cheeks. He had been the only innocent one, but he still felt the guilt. He had not tried to appreciate his father. He would spend his days in school bragging about him, in his dormitory bed cursing his name; instead of writing home to actually communicate and build a relationship with Lucius.

The three Malfoys were soon huddled together on the dining hall floor, letting go years of bottled-up troubles and adversity.

xxx xxx xxx

**Author's Notes:** Here it is! That was a long string of emotional material. But breaking it up to more chapters would have killed me. I have no real comment of this chapter for now, so I will need your feedback ;) I can almost guarantee a sequel because there is still so much to write about. Thanks so much again for reading and have a happy Christmas :)

**Edit on March 11, 2008:** I am afraid that my promise cannot be kept. I simply cannot write on this story as of now. It's like the muse is gone. I will still try, but it's best not to expect me to write any more unless it's on a different plot altogether. I am terribly sorry to the people anticipating a sequel, but it really can't be helped at the present time :(


End file.
